Eliza

2

—MIA—

After fifteen minutes, Eliza finally begins to calm down. I've wrapped her up in blankets and put her noise cancelling headphones in, and I've been packing her things while she sobs softly.

I hate that I'm part of the reason this is happening.

Her stuffed animals fill up half of a suitcase, so I try to pack everything more closely in. Eliza doesn't like new stuff. I've had to buy the same brand of bread for three years, since last time I tried to change it she threw a tantrum, not unlike the one before.

Once one suitcase of clothes and aquatic teddies is full, I go to grab another from my bedroom. When I return, Eliza is still asleep. I let out a small breath and begin to pack more of her things.

—

Two hours later, I'm grabbing Eliza's car seat and putting it into Dante's car while holding my daughter on my hip. She's still asleep, thankfully.

I slide her into her seat, buckling her in, before taking up the spot next to her. Dante sends me a strange look, but I shut the door before he has the chance to speak, then look at my car for a moment. He said he'd have someone come get it and drop it off soon.

I grab a blanket from the small bag I brought with me and set it over Eliza, also throwing it over my legs. It's coming to be the end of August, so it's becoming increasingly chilly.

Dante gets into the drivers seat, looks back at us in the rear view mirror, as though checking I haven't grabbed her and ran away, before turning the car on and stepping on the petrol.

And just like that, he begins driving me away from the house I've turned into a home.

Half an hour of silence is interrupted by Eliza's small sniffles. She looks around as she peels her eyes open, and when her gaze lands on me it fills with relief.

"Mama." She whispers. I smile at her. From the corner of my eye, I notice Dante look back in the rear view mirror again. Her big eyes wander the car, and her eyes fill with tears when she sees her dad. She starts to kick her legs and tries to unbuckle her seatbelt.

     "Hey, hey, hey, it's okay, baby." I assure her, my voice as soft as I can possibly make it. Her breaths come short and quick, and my heart breaks as I grab her noise-cancelling headphones. Sometimes they help her, sometimes they don't. She doesn't like background noise that much, and in situations like these, it helps for her to be calm and focused on ons thing—herself. Not what's around her.

     I put them on her, and she begins to sob. "Mama." She says again, her voice breaking on the word. I kiss her cheek, and she inhales a deep breath as she shakes the headphones off. "Mama I don't wanna go."

     "I know you don't, sweetheart. But we have to." I tell her softly. She shakes her head, but before she can speak I get all my words out. "It's gonna be fine. You'll be able to play with your brothers and get to know them and your dad."

"I don't want them, mama, I just want you." She sobs.

My heart breaks. I notice Dante stiffen in the front seat, but he doesn't say anything. He knows just as well as I do that it'll make this whole thing worse, and possibly cause another tantrum. "It'll be okay." I end up saying, because I'm not sure what to do.